


An Unanswered Questions

by einfach_mich



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:17:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/einfach_mich/pseuds/einfach_mich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the confrontation in Kingslanding Jaime takes Ned captive and flees to Lannisport, planning to trade him for Tyrion. While Ned recovers from his injuries, he and the Kingslayer learn more about each other then either every planned. Sometimes your greatest enemy, can be your deepest desire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unanswered Questions

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: This is an AU story. I’ve altered both the events of the 1st book (Game of Thrones) and some of the history of events that take place before the canon in the books.

The sunlight glittered against the restless waves of the Sunset Sea. It was a beautiful sight, that left Ned unsettled and anxious for his leg to heal. He had been a prisoner of in Lannisport for little more than a full turning of the moon, yet it felt like a long winter. A wolf could never rest within a lion’s den. He shifted his weight onto his muslin wrapped leg, and immediately winced at the shock of pain that surged through him.   
  
It was a curse of age that left him addled like a child, waiting on his bodies slow recovery from a spear strike that in days gone by would not have given him the slightest bit of notice. He remember the days when he would laugh over pitchers of wine with Robert, while the maester stitched his wounds. They were young and so much stronger than.   
  
Ned pushes the thought and regret tinged memories from his mind, making the long journey back to his bed. Silk sheets felt like briers to him, comforts of his pampered enemy like a rusted spear in his side, that gave more insult than comfort. He took up the pitch of wine, the one respite he allowed himself, and pour another goblet full.  
  
He emptied the pitched before the sun had set, letting the dull haze settle over his mind, and wondered when he would regain a semblance of sanity in all this chaos. The servants entered, silent as the wind, and refilled the pitcher. His room filled with the scent of spiced meat, and fresh bread. Ned turned his head upon the overstuffed pillow to look at the tray of food with a grim expression.   
  
“My lord, you must eat,” the servant girl whispered, her light eyes glowing in the candle light.  
  
Ned frowned, casting his eyes back at the now darkened window. “When did the hour grow so late?”  
  
“You drank the day away, Lord  Stark ,” Jaime Lannister sneers Ned’s name as if the very act of speaking it pains him, and perhaps it does.  
  
“I did not request company with my meal,” Ned spoke without turning to gaze upon the other man, instead keeping his eyes on the quickly darkening sky, and tried to keep his thoughts from his face.  
  
“Yet, you have it,” Jaime responded with a humorless laugh. “Leave us.”  
  
The soft sound of wood on stone signal the closing of the chamber door, leaving them alone. After a labored exhale Ned finally turned his head to cast weary eyes upon the fair-haired man that held him captive. Jaime was smiling, but there was no humor or kindness in his bright green eyes.   
  
“The maester says that your leg is healing cleanly,” Jaime said in a conversational tone, while pulling the doe-skin gloves from his hand, and set them upon the thin linen sheet covering Ned’s injured leg.   
  
Ned does not bother to answer, instead reaching for the fresh pitcher of wine, and pours himself another goblet.   
  
“It’s bad enough that it makes you stink like him, must you be a sop as well?” A lock of golden hair drops into Jaime’s eyes, cast a shadow across his eyes in the shape of a tear.   
  
Ned wonders if it is a trick of the light or a ghost of his conscious haunting him. Jaime raised his head, and with a flick of his head shifted the hair from his face. Yet, Ned was still trapped in the memory long buried of a fair-haired youth with a tear streaked face who had spat a curse at Ned while they stood on opposite sides of a candle lit chamber not unlike the one they sat in now.   
  
It was strange how the past could still feel so new in his mind, in his heart. He could still hear the boys voice crack with grief and desperation, and his own voice devoid of emotion reciting the words once spoke to him.   
  
“My duty is to my family alone.”  Even at the cost of my own heart.  The last part stayed within his own head, a secret he would guard for the boy’s own protection.  
  
“If that were true you wouldn’t follow at the heels of your true love, like a dog!” Jaime had spat the words even as his beautiful face twisted into a mask of heartbreak.   
  
The sight tore at Ned, but he could not yield to his desire to comfort the boy. His affection for Jaime had already cost them both so much. He couldn’t risk showing any kindness that would only serve to hurt the boy more when Ned left.   
  
“Robert is my friend and one day he shall be my brother,” Ned spoke in a dull tone, knowing that by not dismissing the boys jealous accusation outright he was all but confirming it as a truth.   
  
It was not a lie, not in the truest form. A gentle mistruth, Ned told himself, to spare the boy’s heart. Better for Jaime to mend his heart with hate, than regret. That burden would be Ned’s alone, to carry within him until such a time he too could heal his own wound.   
  
Their fate was not their own. Duty to family, land and honor. This is what they each owed, the purpose of their lives. While they both had found comfort in a dream of a different life, where they could live, love and fight side-by-side, it was still only a dream. They were drunk on the spectacle of the tourney, wine and the love they wrought with their bodies.   
  
Ned had never lain with another man before Jaime, though he long dreamt of the mysterious that might lie within another man’s body. It was even true that for a time he had cast his friend Robert in his lewd dreams, but it was nothing more than the fancy of an ignorant young boy. He had yet to know the true touch of love, until he met Jaime. The Lannister heir was little more than a boy himself, but still a seasoned fighter at the age of fifteen, as well as an experienced lover of men.   
  
They talked of fighting, of their dreams and of the world that lay beyond the shores of the Seven Kingdoms. Jaime wove tales of their exploits as sellswords journeying across foreign lands where no one knew their names and titles. Where they could simply be Jaime and Ned. It was a bold dream, one Ned would have never had the courage to conceive of on his own, but Jaime made him brave in a way he had never been, in a way he had yet to be again since leaving the boy’s company.   
  
On that day he was braver than he ever dreamed he could be, when he crossed that stone floor to touch the tear stained cheek of his beloved and placed a soft kiss upon the boy’s brow. “Go to your betrothed, and have a happy life. I promise you, her arms hold more happiness for you than mine ever could.”  
  
Ned’s feet felt like lead as walked away from Jaime’s chamber, and out of the castle. When Robert brought him word of Jaime’s pending engagement to Lys Tully, he knew it was time for their brief affair to end, as it would have eventually. It was only a matter of time before Ned’s own father would find him a suitable match, as he had done for Brandon. On that day, when Ned finally took a wife he would bury the last of his dreams of love and a fair-haired boy from the South, who’s tongue was as deadly and beautiful as his sword-work. The dreams of boys must give way to responsibilities of men, such is the life of a noble man.   
  
The thoughts of the young man who Ned had once been, felt odd in his mind now. He was so tired of the shackles of a life he never choose. It was disgraceful sin to even think such a thing, but the wine was easing the way for truth. Ned had been wrong believing he could ever bury how he felt, and his attempt to do so had created a deeper wound, long festering.  
  
“Wine brings truths long left unspoken,” he said bring the goblet to his lips, on to have Jaime slap it away.  
  
“I care not for your truths,” Jaime spat, while the goblet clattered to the floor spilling a red stain across the white stones.   
  
Ned smiled them, a pained expression that brought tears to his eyes. “I have loved one man, and he sat upon the iron throne.”  
  
“He sits upon it still,” Jaime gave another laugh, though his mouth turned down into a deep frown.   
  
“No, this man surrendered the throne, and on bended knee offered me a kingdom,” Ned said, his thoughts filling with the memory of Jaime’s bright eyes gazing up at him from the floor of the throne room.   
  
He was a vision in the golden armor of the Kingsguard, his hair shining in the fractured sunlight streaming through the broken windows lining the chamber. Ned stood before him his sword hanging limply from his hand, and the smallest spark of love still kindling in his heart, even now. While the man that was once a boy that he had held with regard and pleasure, spoke of treason.  
  
“Take it,” Jaime spoke it like a challenge, but even as the his words echoed through the hall the anger fled his face, and was replaced with a spark of hope as he whispered, “You would be a better king than any of them.”   
  
“It is not mine to take.” Ned couldn’t keep the regret from his voice, while shaking his head, and turned his back on Jaime’s stricken expression. “I claim this throne in the name of Robert Baratheon.”  
  
“Do not mock me,” Jaime’s voice portrayed his own pain at the memory, and he began to turn away, but Ned caught his wrist in an iron grip.   
  
“It was not my intention to mock,” Ned pleaded, gazing up into Jaime’s wounded expression and marveled at how those emerald eyes still took his breath with their beauty. “It was an old man’s clumsy attempt at an apology.”  
  
For a split second, Jaime’s expression softened and in the dim candle light the years disappeared, and Ned was again gazing upon the face of the boy with whom he had fallen in love with those many years ago. A cold wind blew in through the window, making the candles falter and once they recovered Jaime’s expression had hardened. Ned’s grip loosened, and fell away.   
  
“Good evening, Stark,” Jaime spoke in a distant tone, and opened the chamber door. “I wish you to be healthy when we face each other again in battle.”  
  
Ned did not speak, only watch the door close behind Jaime, and let the guilt settle onto his bones again. 

* * *

**_  
Fifteen years earlier... _ **   
  
“I swear to you, Ned, she had magnificent tits. Each were as big as a man’s head,” Robert bellowed, spitting bits of ale and meat across the table.    
  
“I will take your word for truth,” Ned laughed, while shielding his face for the shower, and attempted to refill his goblet, only to find the pitcher empty.    
  
“I told you to drink fast or you'll spend the night sober, did I not?” Robert laughed, and tossed the last of his coins upon the table, but Ned shook his head at them.   
  
“I will see to my own drink,” Ned stood from the bench, and began to push his way to the crowd, in search of a servant.   
  
He could barely make headway with all the drunken celebrants crammed within the confines of the tavern. Though, he supposed he should be used to it by now. This was only the first day of the great Tourney and every part  of Harrenhal was filled to bursting with drunken celebration. The streets overflow with wine, and excitement. It was a fine day at the Tourney, and there was promise of even more excitement.    
  
Ned was consumed with thoughts of his own exploits at tourney’s yet to come when he collided hard with another body, and fell backward into the table. Wine rained over his face and body, while he struggled to right himself. The occupants of the table only laughed and continued to shower him with wine, much to Ned’s embarrassment.    
  
“Apologizes,” a voice sounded behind him, and he turned to lay eyes on the the owner.    
  
The boy was his equal in size and stature, but his face spoke the truth of his age. Golden hair framed emerald eyes, and a mischievous smile. He was a beauty, and judging by the way he held his head high, he was quite aware of it.    
  
“None needed, it was an accident,” Ned said with a polite smile, and shrugged.   
  
“And if it wasn’t?” The boy gave him a teasing smile, and winked.    
  
“Are you challenging me?” Ned laughed heartily, and took in the boy one more time, letting his eyes linger a little long on the boy’s body than was proper.    
  
“Are you up to a challenge?” He did not even wait for Ned’s response, but instead turned and began to push his way toward the entrance of the tavern.    
  
Irritated by the other boy’s arrogance, Ned followed closely behind, determined to school him in manners. Even as his blood ran hot with anger, he couldn’t stop himself from admiring the boy's body and graceful movements. He was quite a sight to behold, even as he was a rude whelp.   
  
When they finally emerge into the dirt road, in front of the tavern, Ned had to take a moment to adjust to the darkness. The boy waited patiently, standing a few feet away and smiled. Ned began to draw his sword, but the boy quickly shook his head.   
  
“Not here, the city guards are patrolling in great number, because of the tourney,” he said, gesturing for Ned to sheath his sword and continued to walk.    
  
They walked past a few more buildings, and down a dimly lit alleyway. Ned grew more tense with each step they took away from the tavern. The cold air was quickly sobering him, and the folly of this situation was coming clear to him. This boy could be a cut-purse, with a gang of fellow street-thieves waiting in the shadows. Lord Arryn was right when he said that belly full of wine could kill a man as easily as a sword.    
  
“You hesitate,” the boy’s voice drew Ned’s attention from his thoughts and he realized he stopped walking.   
  
“I should return to the my friends,” Ned said, beginning to step backward, before he moved more than a few steps the boy was on him.    
  
Ned stumbled backward into the hard side of a building, but he reflexes were alive enough to see his dagger into his hand. The boy had him pinned to the wall, a wicked smile on his face, but no weapons in his hands. Ned pushed his dagger against the boy’s stomach, but the boy only shook his head.   
  
“Do you honestly take me for a thief?” He laughed softly, and pressed closer still. “Or are you afraid of something else?”   
  
A patch of moonlight spilled across the boy’s face, lighting up his eyes, and made his lips glisten. Ned swallowed hard, and tried to keep his face impassive. How could this boy know of his fantasies? It made no sense, and couldn’t be true. It was inconceivable that this beautiful stranger could know his secret, even though his eyes seemed to pierce right through Ned. His secret was safely hidden in his own heart, only ever spoken once to his trustworthy sister, Lyanna.   
  
“Release me!” Ned demanded in as stern a tone he could muster, but made no move to fight the boy.   
  
“I’m not holding you here with anything you cannot overcome,” the boy said in a mocking tone, and lifted his hands from Ned.   
  
The two stared at each other for a long, tense moment. Neither one moving or speaking, until finally the sound of a shouting echoed off the alley wall. It was a drunken man complaining about being cheated by a whore.    
  
“I should go,” Ned said softly, and sheathed his dagger.   
  
“Yet you still do not move,” the boy pointed out, with a smirk.    
  
“Why did you bring me here?” Ned finally asked, confused and frustrated by his own immobility.   
  
“You already know the answer,” the boy sighed, leaned in close, and kissed Ned.   
  
The sensation was indescribable. Ned had kissed a fair amount of women in his time, some were servants, and a few were whores, but none had come close to this boy’s soft, sweet lips. Their mouths moved against each other with the passion and desperation of youth. Ned’s fingers slid into the boys golden hair, while the boy tugged at the front of Ned’s doublet to bring their bodies closer.    
  
It was rushed, and rough, devoid of the niceties of gentle courtship. Their hands grasped, and pulled with strength of men of battle. While their mouths continued to dance. When the boy’s tongue introduced itself to Ned’s mouth, he thought he might lose consciousness.   
  
The surge of heat rushed through his body like a raging fire that threatened to overwhelm him, but he held tight to the boy, and kept his breathing steady. It was a strange, dangerous kind of magic and it had Ned in its grasp. When the boy finally broke the kiss, Ned was panting, all pretense of controlling himself abandoned.    
  
The boy smiled at Ned, smoothing his hair from his own face, and wiped at his wet mouth with the back of his hand. “The hour grows late, and we have no time to find a room.”   
  
“I would meet you again, if you wish,” Ned blurted out in desperation to keep the promise of this boy’s beautiful mouth in his future.   
  
“I wouldn’t make you wait so long,” the boys said, brushing his calloused thumb over Ned’s bottom lip and went down on his knees.    
  
He made short work of laces at the front of Ned’s breeches, and had Ned’s cock out in seconds. Before Ned could do more than choke out a half-hearted protest the boy engulfed his cock with his hot, wet mouth.    
  
If Ned had been bewitched by the boy’s kiss, his prowess with Ned’s cock was utterly mesmerizing. Lips, tongue and hands all worked at a fevered pace to reduce Ned to shallow gasps, and guttural moans. It was all Ned had to reach down and comb his fingers through the boys silken hair.    
  
The boy looked up at Ned, his emerald eyes sparking and his shining lips slid over Ned’s dark cock. Ned groaned one last time, the beautiful sight undoing him and he spilled into the boy’s waiting mouth. He braced himself against the wall, while the boy carefully re-laced his breeches, and rose to face him again.   
  
“Now, I am the one who must go,” the boy said, leaning in to kiss Ned one last time. “Till tomorrow, ser.”   
  
The boy had pulled away, and made it half way down the alley before Ned had collected himself to yell after him. “What is your name?”  
  
He turned back, and smiled at Ned. “Jaime.”   
  
With a bow and a wink he departed, leaving Ned weak at a newborn, and besotted as a love sick maiden. 

 


End file.
